" I am Elizabeth De La Rosa, I am from Los Angeles California."
I told myself out loud. I need to become my new name a new person. Vanessa Madrigal never existed.
***
Senior year was suppose to be the one of the greatest time of any high school st...
After a week of adjusting to my new school and the people I had my first visit to my therapist Dr. Monica Evans. My first appointment with my therapist was pushed back a day. Now I am fully booked on Friday afternoons. I would have my therapy session after my classes at 3 pm and my self defense classes at 7 pm. My self defense classes don't start until next week. Thinking that my Fridays would be all to myself, I would be having a busy afternoon after my classes. Either Dessen was trying to keep me busy getting my mind somewhere else or he wants to drive me crazy. I believe in the second one.
He is trying to drive me crazy.
I of course did some research on my therapist. I am going to have to tell her my deep dark secrets or she is going to have to pull them from me. I did a simple Google search and pretty much said that was one of the best therapists on the east coast and mainly deals with adolescents and trauma.
Why did Dessen even arrange this for me?
Mom and dad tried to get me back home but I didn't listen. I was too stubborn to go to one. The first time when the the first incident happened I closed myself off and never left my room. That was my first stage of becoming a live zombie... well sorta. I mean I am not insane or anything I eventually came around. I was grateful that my brother and Alesia were handling things better than I was. Now with Dessen in charge of my protection I was obligated to go to a therapist.
As Dessen said in his words:
"You do need it. Everyone involved needs it. You have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD. After all that you have been dealing with for the past year. You need someone you can talk to and would help you overcome these challenges. Talking to friends and family is one thing but talking to a stranger who is a professional in therapy can really help."
I still didn't think I needed it. I don't have PTSD. I knew it was bad to keep everything inside but I don't want people to feel pity for me, just keep to myself. I was still in my school uniform so I changed into ripped jeans, black shirt with an over layer plaid long sleeve and my white converse.
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People go to these things casually, right?
As I headed out to the parking lot when I was stopped by Holly halfway towards my car. She was still in her school uniform. She must have had time to change yet.
"Hey." I turned in her direction. Her hair looked even more vibrant when the sun was hitting it. Bright red orange curly hair. She had it half up in a top bun with a few curly strands framing her face.
"Oh hey Holly." I played with my key ring between my middle and index finger.
"Are you off into town?" She asked.
"No. Uhh yeah. I am just visiting a family friend who lives close by. My parents are making me visit her." A believable lie.
"Oh okay. I was hoping you wanted to hang out later." Her smile turns into a small frown but smiles back again.
